


let's see if your number's up

by metonymy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Cisswap, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderswap, always-a-girl!Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne walked into the warehouse and stopped stock-still. It wasn't that she expected a woman to be more trustworthy than a man, even as she had started to think of all the terrible things that could happen to a foolish college student walking into a warehouse with a stranger. It was simply that Arden radiated calm and professionalism. She would have looked better suited to sitting behind a desk in a bank, or maybe at the high levels of some intimidating government agency, rather than standing in the middle of a dusty warehouse with a briefcase and a couple of lawn chairs behind her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's see if your number's up

Waking up in Paris with a lover in her bed has always felt pleasantly bohemian to Ariadne. But here with Arden beside her it feels so perfect that she's a little alarmed.

Ariadne remembers how she got here. She can trace the steps back, from Paris to L.A. to Sydney to Paris again. But she can't make them make sense. She can't quite believe she's awake.

Arden's hair is dark against her sheets, like ink spilling over paper. Such a pedestrian metaphor that Ariadne's almost ashamed of herself for thinking it. But there's no word for the gentle wings of Arden's lashes against her cheeks, for the curve of her lips softened from the straight line she adopts when she means business, for the blurred lipstick still clinging to her mouth in spite of Ariadne's best efforts to kiss it off. There's no way to describe the smell of sex and the weight of Arden warm and heavy in her sheets. There's no blueprint Ariadne can draw to figure out all the hidden parts of the woman she knows so little about, no map she can use to puzzle out Arden's mysteries. 

 

Ariadne walked into the warehouse and stopped stock-still. It wasn't that she expected a woman to be more trustworthy than a man, even as she had started to think of all the terrible things that could happen to a foolish college student walking into a warehouse with a stranger. It was simply that Arden radiated calm and professionalism. She would have looked better suited to sitting behind a desk in a bank, or maybe at the high levels of some intimidating government agency, rather than standing in the middle of a dusty warehouse with a briefcase and a couple of lawn chairs behind her.

On second thought, Ariadne wasn't reassured at all. Had Professor Miles really known anything about these people? He wouldn't have sent Ariadne to get her kidneys carved out by sketchy expats. She hoped.

Arden didn't smile, but she did explain the machine - the PASIV - and help Ariadne strap the tube to her wrist and insert the cannula. Her long fingers were as practiced as any nurse, cool and deft against Ariadne's skin, and she pushed down the button and --

Ariadne woke up an hour - five minutes later, face stinging, her ears ringing in the silence of the empty warehouse. And Arden was there, watching, leaning against a table like a fashion illustration and talking as if the conversation had never ceased. Explaining how the PASIV was developed for wargames, easily familiar with it.

The next time Ariadne woke up she was gasping for air, drowning on blood in her lungs and pain radiating through her chest, and none of it real. It was Arden's hand on her arm that grounded her, that brought her back. A quiet command: "Look at me. You're okay."

It woke her up, though it didn't calm her down. Ariadne could feel the fury, fueled by the fear thrust into the core of her by the knife - by Mrs. Cobb - and she let it carry her right out of the chair and right out of the warehouse.

But even as she went she could feel the tug at the back of her mind. The sense that the buildings around her were just waiting to be moved. All it would take was a little push and Paris would rearrange itself. It was terrifying.

And tempting.

The next day the warehouse was there beneath the metro tracks, and inside was Arden, wearing slim trousers and a soft sweater that Ariadne's fingers itched to touch, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

"Cobb said you'd be back," Arden said, eyebrows barely lifting to acknowledge Ariadne's presence.

Ariadne felt tongue-tied, at the thought of what she was asking for. What she wanted so badly she couldn't sleep last night.

"It's just pure creation," she said.

As they walked up the steps inside Arden's dream, pitched just far enough to be annoying, Ariadne kept sneaking looks at Arden. She'd never seen anything like the older woman. Maybe it was just that her student's circles were limited to the varying types of academic scruffiness.

But Ariadne looked at Arden and saw something entirely new, the slender limbs and quick grace and a tension coiled beneath it that made her think of power cables twisting inside a building's skeleton. And then Arden put out an arm to keep Ariadne from pitching right over the edge, as the staircase yawned open beneath them, and Ariadne felt dizzy with more than just the sudden vertigo of all that empty space.

When they woke up, Ariadne stayed quiet, feeling awkward and ashamed still that she didn't know about Mrs. Cobb. Mal. Arden sat up and disconnected her own lead before reaching over to take out Ariadne's, discarding the sharps in a jar under the table.

"You'll still need to make a totem," she said. "If you'd like to listen to the explanation this time."

Ariadne flushed. "Sorry for being a little preoccupied yesterday," she said, feeling her neck grow warm under the scarf. It was as if every action she took, every word she said was designed specifically to make her look like an impudent child in front of this cool, collected professional.

"I'm sorry about that," Arden said, interrupting that particular train of thought. Ariadne looked up at her in surprise. "It wasn't fair to you."

Ariadne wondered whether she meant the stabbing or the attempt to teach her a lesson at a particularly bad moment. Arden pulled the same little red die out of her pocket, holding it up to let the light shine through it. "Like I said yesterday: something small, that you can always have on you, but unique enough that you know it's yours. So you can know everything about it."

Arden rolled the die and Ariadne looked away, out of some strange impulse of courtesy. When she looked back Arden's eyes were on her, calm but curious. Ariadne swallowed.

"It's not about the number," Arden said. "It's the weight."

"It does seem unpredictable," Ariadne replied, swinging her legs over the side of her lawn chair and focusing on the little plastic cube.

"I don't want to stake my sanity on a one-in-six chance." The die was bright red, the only bright color about her. Ariadne looked at the die and thought about Arden's lips outlined with crimson and swallowed again.

 

As Arden taught her more about the dreams and the PASIV Ariadne had to admit to herself that her initial interest was swiftly becoming the most embarrassing kind of adolescent crush. Her type had never been the sort of dapper and perfectly pressed fashion plate of either gender. Ariadne's last girlfriend was a painter, lush curves and daubs of bright color everywhere; her last boyfriend was a wannabe anarchist who never slept and wore sweaters two sizes two big. Artsy types, rebels against a world that didn't offer them enough, dreamers like Ariadne who wanted more and didn't believe in the strictures of The Man.

But now, as Arden explained the paradoxes and cheats and tricks to make the dream bend to her will, Ariadne kept getting distracted. Her fingers itched to dig themselves into that close-cropped hair and disturb its careful parting and the swoop to one side. She wanted to peel off that waistcoat and unbutton the tailored shirt and see just what her colleague was hiding under that starched linen, shove all the blueprints and models and sketches to the floor and spread Arden across the table and learn her from the inside out.

But that would have been incredibly unprofessional. And Ariadne was already on shaky ground, the youngest by years and the only one still in school. She couldn't jeopardize her access to this astonishing new world by developing a crush on her co-worker like some silly kid.

Ariadne told herself this sternly every morning. But sometimes she swore she could still feel the cool pressure of Arden's fingers against her wrist.

 

Dom came back, two more men in tow, and Ariadne wondered how the hell Arden managed among all these guys. But she couldn't ask, somehow. Couldn't show weakness, not in front of the men and especially not in front of Arden. It became second nature to hook herself up and drop into a dream, to feel that sickening twist from lying down to already up and walking. It became automatic to edit the dream as she walked, her companions in the dream suppressing their projections. 

Dom rarely went under with her, but Ariadne thought about what Arden had said and knew she had to make sure she'd know the difference between awake and asleep.

When Arden saw Ariadne knock over her totem, she smiled.

"Still playing games?"

"Strategy, not chance," Ariadne said, lifting her chin, and Arden's smile broadened like the proverbial cat with cream. A dimple tucked itself into one of her cheeks. Ariadne stared, then blinked hard. "It'll do?"

Arden took out her die and tossed it, showily, smile tilting into a smirk. "It suits you." And with that cryptic remark she sauntered off to go bother Yusuf about the sedatives or something else. Ariadne let out a breath and hoped her cheeks weren't turning red too.

It was easier to handle her feelings - her crush - when they were all in a group. Dom grilled them about the plan. Yusuf explained how his sedatives worked, drawing chemical diagrams that Ariadne thought looked like branching veins and diagrams of mazes she could build someday. Eames needled Arden. Well, Eames needled everybody but Arden especially, and Arden gave as good as she got. Eames laughed as Arden played guinea pig for Yusuf's sedative, and Ariadne slid a bottle of Doliprane onto Arden's desk. 

The smile Arden gave her after that was enough to make Ariadne check her totem again.

But even the most brilliant smile - even a smile with a dimple tucked in the cheek - even the promise of something more wasn't enough. Not against the inexorable march of time and the approaching death of Fischer's father. Not against Saito's quiet presence and unimaginable wealth and power and the knowledge that they were all there to do his bidding. Not against the darkness Cobb had locked in the back of his mind. 

When she stole into Cobb's mind, when Mal confronted her and asked if she'd ever been a lover, when the projection came after her, Ariadne was scared. But more than scared, she was angry. She wanted to know just how long this had been in his head, how much worse it was going to get, how Cobb could possibly put them all at risk.

"You have to tell Arden," she said, and then Cobb told Saito that they needed an extra seat and Arden looked at Ariadne with a quiet, cold, unreadable gaze and Ariadne wondered if she'd ever seen a smile there at all. 

 

Somehow it wasn't a surprise when everything went to shit.

The train blasting down the middle of the street, everyone's angry shouting and Eames pulling a gun, Saito's wet gasps for breath as she pressed the cloth she'd found against his chest to try and stop the bleeding, it all blurred together with the incessant pounding of the rain and the noise of the distant traffic. And underneath it all was the quiet thread of the hollow-eyed shade's whisper. Waiting for a train. Cobb's subconscious really did have a sick sense of humor, she reflected. The story he told her didn't change that - but Ariadne wondered. Did Arden know? She had to have known. She had to have known Mal before, had to have seen the change in the woman - they must have been friends. Cobb's betrayal of his wife had piled lies and secrets ever higher. And now, somehow, Ariadne was the one who had been chosen for the truth.

Maybe Cobb was lying again. Maybe Arden didn't know. Ariadne stole a glance at the other woman as they clambered into the van, as they hooked themselves up to the second PASIV. It seemed like another bit of trickery for them to send themselves into another dream with an imaginary device, but there wasn't time, there wasn't room for more questions, there was just another sickening twist and then suddenly -

Silence. Everything was still going straight to hell, but they were in the second level now. Ariadne suppressed the urge to fidget. It must have been her own mind that turned the suit she was wearing from a cool grey column into a wrinkly, poorly-seamed mess. Her own nervousness. Nobody was able to give her a good answer about how much control a primary dreamer had over the others in their mind. Arden would never have put her in anything so poorly tailored, not even as a joke. Arden had been the one to remind her gently to wear something nice for first class, but without any hidden barbs in her tone or her expression.

But it made Ariadne even more twitchy, sitting there with her hair pulled back tight and feet in unfamiliar pointy shoes. And Arden lounged beside her like a big cat ready to pounce, all pinstripes and smooth skin and even - a touch too much - a tie. A goddamned tie, because that was fair when they were in the middle of an utter clusterfuck.

When Ariadne spoke her voice came out a half octave higher than normal and she swallowed hard, barely listening to Arden's explanation of a phenomenon she'd already observed. Maybe it would calm her down to hear it again.

"They're looking for the dreamer. For me."

Everyone was looking at them. Somewhere up above it was pouring rain and the van was careening through streets filled with projections, over in the bar Cobb was trying to convince their mark that this was a dream and that he was friendly and not a dream thief, and being calm was impossible because all of the projections here were looking at them. At Arden. And at her. Ariadne couldn't just sit there anymore, she was going to jump out of her skin, she was going to scream, she was going to -

"Quick, give me a kiss."

Her heart stopped.

But the rest of her turned, bending in to where Arden licked her lips and leaned forward.

Arden's mouth was soft and warm and perfect.

And just like that she pulled away. Ariadne turned, embarrassment already heating up the back of her neck.

"They're still looking at us," she murmured.

"Yeah," Arden said, as if nothing had happened, "it was worth a shot." But there was a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth as she stood. And in the elevator, she stood a little too close to Ariadne.

The part of Ariadne that wanted answers was screaming inside her head. Who the fuck kisses someone in the middle of a high-stakes job? That's some spy movie bullshit, and if they hadn't been trying to save their own minds from the combination of Cobb's guilt and Fischer's subsecurity Ariadne would have grabbed Arden and demanded to know what the fuck she was thinking, what this meant, what she wanted. But there was no time for that sort of freshman-level theatrics.

Still, though. Arden gave her another one of those subtle smiles as she set the charges, hopping off the end table with a little swoop, and Ariadne had one brilliant, brief moment to hope - but that was all. Soon everyone was there and they were all hooking up and lying down and Ariadne was left blinking into the cold white glare of the third level.

 

But that kiss stayed with her. All the way through the snow and the tunnels, through the waves and the empty streets of Limbo and the gathering storm clouds overhead. It wasn't like Ariadne wouldn't have kept going anyway; it wasn't like she needed a reason to keep going beyond not wanting to die inside her own brain before she even finished grad school. But it was something. It was one more reason on top of everything else she had to get done to get the hell out and get everyone back. It was warm on her lips like the feel of her totem in her pocket digging into her hip, reminding her what was waiting, reminding her there was more than the seductive sprawling expanse of Limbo to get lost in. 

It seemed forever and no time at all - the long walk through the crumbling city, the monument to Mal and Cobb's madness, the discovery of Fischer and the fall down and down and up and down and the plunge into cold water. Arden's hair floated around her face like anemone fronds as they passed the regulator back and forth, then slicked itself down the moment they clambered out of the water.

They watched the river together, the surface choppy with the current and the rain spattering down, their clothes sticking damply to them. Good thing the leather jackets weren't real, Ariadne thought, and choked back a hysterical giggle. She glanced over at Arden, wondering what it was precisely that made her so devoted to Cobb. Maybe there would be time to ask if they all made it out. Ariadne hoped her declaration that Cobb and Saito would wake up was right. If it wasn't - well. Time to worry about that later, she thought, waiting for the deep booming to echo across the sky.

 

And then, impossibly, astonishingly, her eyes opened and she was lying half out of her chair and her clothes were dry and the flight attendant was offering her a hot towel. Seemed kind of a waste for her first ever first-class flight to be spent drugged and asleep, Ariadne thought. Was it weird to think that after what they'd been through? Or was this just how the mind coped, with dumb jokes and sarcasm to cover over the enormity and exhaustion currently fogging her brain? 

She detoured into the airport bathroom after customs, after watching Cobb find Professor Miles, with Arden close on her heels. Ariadne stopped in front of the sinks, letting go of her suitcase, looking at Arden's face in the mirror.

"Where are you going after this?" she asked. Arden shrugged.

"I have some business to take care of. You?"

As if Arden didn't already know. "Visiting my parents. Then back to Paris." Ariadne paused. _Take a leap of faith._ For the demand of a ghost built out of grief and guilt and rage, it wasn't terrible advice. "You should meet me there."

Arden met her eyes in the mirror, hard to read as ever, her collar still perfectly pointed around her throat. Ariadne fought the urge to kiss her, to grab her shoulder and pull her in and bite her lips till the lipstick was gone and they were red all over again, to drag her teeth down Arden's neck and hear her whimper. They stood in an airport bathroom, the least sexy place she'd maybe ever been, and Ariadne still wanted to push a hand down Arden's stupid perfect trousers and make her moan.

"I suppose someone has to clear out the warehouse," Arden said, and smiled. And then she was gone and Ariadne looked at her own face in the mirror, circles dark purple under her eyes in the fluorescent light, and closed her hand around her totem and took a deep breath and then another until she could convince herself that this was real, that she'd woken up, that this was her life now.

 

Ariadne visited her parents for one incredibly dull week; they doted on her, but her bed seemed both too soft and too small and too hard all at the same time. She tossed and turned all night and then finally fell into a doze around dawn and would wake around noon, gasping out of nightmares. It was too much to handle in any event, and a hundred times worse trying to pass it off as jet lag and disorientation. 

When she got back to Paris, she found a card tucked into her mailbox among the weeks of circulars and bills, written in Arden's quick, slanting hand. Initials, and a phone number.

Ariadne waited a day. It should have been longer, she knew, trying to seem cool. Trying to seem like she wasn't hopelessly hung up on her older colleague. 

But it was no good, and she dialed the number before she could second-guess herself or throw out the card or talk herself out of it somehow.

"Hello?" said that familiar voice, half-distracted and impatient.

"What's the W for?" Ariadne asked, leaning against the wall next to her window. 

A pause, then: "Weisman. Why do you ask?"

"It was the first thing that occurred to me." Ariadne looked out the window, briefly wondering if she should just throw the phone out. But then Arden chuckled, warm and intimate over the line, and Ariadne's fingers tightened around the plastic. 

"Well. Now you know my last name. Is that why you called?"

"Of course not," Ariadne said. "Do you want to get a drink?"

As it transpired, Arden did. Which really meant turning up to Ariadne's building with a bottle of wine that probably cost more than Ariadne's entire outfit and a pair of boots on that fairly screamed _fuck me_. 

It seemed like a good sign.

Even better was when Arden didn't look at her place with judgement, didn't pull a face or a wry smile, just investigated the overstuffed bookshelf while Ariadne dug out her corkscrew and wrestled with the bottle. 

"I would've thought you hated mythology," Arden said as Ariadne came back with the glasses, holding a copy of the Metamorphoses.

"I mostly do," she replied, trading Arden one glass for the old, battered book. "Too many jokes about mazes and monsters and all that bullshit. But this one's an exception." The copy her mother used to read to her, an old translation that turned all the horrors into poetry. Pretty lies, but good memories. Maybe that was what it all boiled down to.

"I brought the wine," Arden pointed out, sipping from her glass. "So does that make me…"

Ariadne rolled her eyes and took a large sip of her own. "Don't start." 

They wound up sitting on the couch, and even though part of Ariadne wanted to ask all about the Cobbs and about Mal and about where it had all started, she had learned at least a little bit of her lesson by now. That diving right into the middle wouldn't always solve things, that she had to start at one end and work her way through. 

Of course, that was a nice idea, but towards the end of the glass, as Arden finished a story about a youthful escapade in early law-breaking, it went somewhat off the rails.

"I have a question," Ariadne said, slumped a little against the back of the couch. 

"What, about how I got out? It's really not that hard, security never --"

"Why did you kiss me?" Ariadne blurted out, her cheeks now red with more than the alcohol. She'd always been too impatient; it was her greatest weakness. At least she'd said it. Now she'd know. 

Arden looked at her and set down her glass carefully. "Because you needed to be snapped out of a panic attack." She leaned a little closer to Ariadne, forearm against the back of the sofa. "Because I thought there was a good chance we'd never wake up. And because I didn't want to fall into limbo without getting to kiss you at least once."

Ariadne sat up enough to put her glass down before she dropped it, which brought her that much closer. "Are you going to apologize?"

"Only if you want me to," Arden murmured, and Ariadne leaned in and kissed her for an answer. 

Arden's mouth was even warmer than in the dream, her tongue a shocking dart of heat against Ariadne's, the berry-rich taste of the wine still lingering. Her hand came up to feather across Ariadne's cheek before stroking through her hair, and Ariadne sighed with pleasure. This was really happening, she told herself, scooting closer and feeling Arden's mouth open under hers, this wasn't a dream, this was real. 

Real like the feel of the stiff pomade in Arden's hair, the strands catching at her fingers as she slid her hand over the back of her neck. Real like the scent of Arden's perfume, woodsy and soft where Ariadne kissed her just under the curve of her jaw. The collar of her shirt fell open easily and the skin at the base of her throat was warm and soft and delicate and Arden made a shocked, needy little noise and Ariadne nearly laughed. But she pulled back instead, trying not to knock her skull into Arden's chin, and looked up at her. 

"Should I apologize for that?" Ariadne asked, half-teasing.

"Only if you stop," Arden said, and then she lunged, and then Ariadne was on her back on the couch and Arden was over her and oh, this was perfect, this was what she'd been wanting since Arden stopped her from walking off a staircase into thin air, this gorgeous slender woman pressed all up against her and kissing her like it was more important than breathing. Ariadne could already feel herself getting wet in anticipation, her hips arching up against Arden's, and Arden shifted a little to straddle Ariadne's thigh and let her own leg slide between Ariadne's to let her grind up a little more firmly and Ariadne gasped into her mouth and almost choked on air. 

"Okay?" Arden mumbled, kissing down her chin and along her neck, and Ariadne moaned as the kisses went down the sensitive skin of her chest, her loose henley pushed down and Arden nuzzled at the cups of her bra, and Ariadne grabbed at Arden's stupid perfect pressed shirt and rucked it up and brought her up for another kiss. 

She moaned into Arden's mouth, her hips riding the other woman's thigh, and Arden pulled away and smiled down at her. Ariadne looked up, a little dazed, a little drunk.

"Do you - I have a bed," she said, fingers winding in the tails of Arden's shirt, calculating whether she could pull it up or if she'd have to unbutton the whole thing. "If you - I mean - do you?"

Arden sat back, but she caught Ariadne's hands and pulled her up for another kiss. And that seemed to be answer enough. 

The apartment was small enough that stumbling to the bedroom didn't take long, even if they stopped every three steps to kiss and grope and generally get in each other's way, and Ariadne managed to slide a hand under Arden's waistband so she was pretty sure Arden wouldn't have a chance to get a good look at the decor. If she even cared. 

Their shirts came off in a flurry of motion, bras discarded carelessly, and they thumped to the bed with a bounce that startled a laugh out of Arden. It was the first time Ariadne had heard a laugh, a real one, from her mouth. Which meant she definitely needed to kiss her again. 

Somehow Ariadne couldn't be surprised that Arden's kiss distracted her again, that when she pulled away to gasp for air her jeans were already unbuttoned and halfway down her hips. She wriggled to try and push them down further, grinding against Arden's thigh, and Arden chuckled again and sat up to tug the jeans and underpants off in a few decisive jerks. She tossed them aside, then shimmied out of her own trousers, the soft fabric whispering to the floor. 

"Jesus," Ariadne whispered, looking up at that lean, taut figure with breasts hanging heavy against her chest, the softness unexpected and that much more attractive. Arden looked back at her, eyes dark and glittering. 

"Ariadne," she murmured. "Tell me what you want." 

"You," Ariadne managed. "Just - you, please. Please, Arden."

And Arden obliged, climbing back over the bed, caging Ariadne in with her long limbs, fitting herself over Ariadne and bending down to Ariadne's breasts. They were small, and Ariadne had never given much thought to them, but Arden went after them like they were items one and two on her personal agenda of sex. And maybe it was just that Ariadne was turned on like she hadn't been in ages, but she found herself pushing up into Arden's mouth, the feel of her tongue and the suction on each nipple arrowing right down to her clit and zinging back up again. But it wasn't enough, and Ariadne whimpered a little, hips pumping against Arden's fruitlessly, and Arden pulled off with a loud pop and leaned up for a kiss. A lock of her hair brushed Ariadne's cheek, her thighs interlocking with Ariadne's own, and Ariadne was sure she must have left a wet streak on Arden's thigh when she arched up. Arden gave another one of those low chuckles and slid a hand under Ariadne's ass, pulling her more firmly against her leg, grinding down hard, and Ariadne made a truly ridiculous noise. Finally Arden took pity on her, sliding her hand down and between Ariadne's folds and slipping and sliding over and around and firmly onto her clit and dipping inside, a neverending swirl of movement and exploration. 

She seemed to sense every quiver and twitch of Ariadne's hips, to learn almost as it happened what made Ariadne gasp and arch and moan and what just carried the moment, and to do more of whatever Ariadne wanted until it seemed like she'd stolen the thought out of her head.And the whole time she kept kissing Ariadne, as if the one kiss in the dream had been the first spark and the fuse had been smoldering the whole time since and this was the blast, the onslaught of lips and tongue and teeth, breasts pressed against hers and their nipples stiff and peaked, her long dexterous fingers rubbing and pinching and circling until Ariadne lost track of everything but Arden's hand and Arden's mouth and the crackling sparks as she came and came and came and finally collapsed against the mattress. 

Arden kissed her just under one eye, slowly withdrawing her hand and letting it rest on Ariadne's hip, her thumb stroking a tiny circle over the skin. Ariadne felt like she should have said something, but all she could manage was gasping for air. 

"How was that?" Arden asked, managing to sound solicitous and yet also a trifle smug.

"Fuck," Ariadne said eloquently. She closed her eyes just to focus, that cascade of sparks through her body finally fading into a warmth and a glow all through her limbs. 

Arden chuckled again, definitely smug, her hand sliding over Ariadne's hip and leaving a faint sticky trail. "Quite."

And that was just infuriating enough to demand a response. Ariadne finally caught her breath - she always bounced back fast after an orgasm, especially the first one of the night - and slid down the bed, finding that Arden was still in her underwear. Well, that wouldn't do. She tugged it down and kissed the very top of her neatly trimmed thatch of hair, breathing in, nuzzling her way down between Arden's thighs. The scent of her was shocking, so strong, so vital as Ariadne kept placing kisses all over her outer lips. Arden made a soft noise, arching up and letting her legs fall open, and Ariadne worked her way around the outside of her cunt, her own lips brushing over the crisp-curling hair as it started to grow damp. 

Arden was curiously quiet. The only signs Ariadne could rely on were that trickle of moisture as she traced over the very edges of Arden's folds with the tip of her tongue, the hitch in Arden's breathing and the way it slowly sped up as Ariadne explored. There was a gratifying gasp when Ariadne darted the tip of her tongue against her clit, a soft sigh when Ariadne brought a hand up to hold her lips apart, a long shuddering inhale when she painted a broad stroke with the flat of her tongue from bottom to top. That trickle grew to a flow, spread and mixed with her spit as she licked and sucked and kissed and scraped her teeth gently across Arden's clit, and that made her actually whine, hips twisting.

Ariadne sucked again, harder, letting her fingers slide down to tease at Arden's entrance, and that was apparently the line she'd had to cross this whole time. 

"Please - inside, I need -" and Arden gasped as Ariadne pressed two fingers in slow and steady, no teasing, just a long slow slide. And she didn't stop, pumping them slowly as Arden moaned, adding a third finger because her hands were small and Arden was fucking begging for it and she was so wet, and Ariadne just kept fucking her slowly with her hand, her folded pinky bumping up against Arden's perineum and her thumb pressing slow lines around her clit. 

"Someday I'm going to put my whole hand inside you," Ariadne promised, breathless, and Arden writhed under her and chanted "yes, yes, yes" when Ariadne leaned back down to suck on her clit. Arden's thighs were closing around Ariadne's head, the whole angle making it awkward and making her wrist threaten to cramp, but Ariadne just kept up that slow fuck in and out with her hand, sucking hard then soft then hard again on Arden's clit, until finally Arden's cunt clutched hard at her fingers and Arden's thighs squeezed hard around her ears and Arden let out a choked-off noise that sounded almost like a sob.

They were her sheets, so Ariadne wiped her hand off on them without caring once Arden finally relaxed enough for her to pull her fingers free. And Ariadne couldn't resist giving Arden a kiss on her belly button and another right on one breast on her way back up to flop down beside her. Arden didn't manage any words at all this time, panting like she'd just run a race, but she flung an arm over Ariadne's waist and buried her face in Ariadne's hair. They must have dozed off at some point, the exhaustion and exertion taking over, and Ariadne probably should have been surprised that Arden didn't get up and leave in the middle of the night.

But here she is. Here they both are, in the pale light of morning, like two ordinary people who've never kissed in a dream.

Now all of Arden's coiled tension is gone, and she lies curled in Ariadne's sheets with her eyes closed and her mouth open and one arm tucked under the pillow so it bunches under her cheek.

Ariadne's fingers itch to reach out and touch her, but she doesn't want to disturb her. It's not like they've gotten a lot of natural sleep in the last couple of months. Instead she just waits, and tries to decide whether to go back to sleep herself.

But then Arden makes a little noise, eyes squinching shut harder before they slit open to look at Ariadne.

"Were you watching me sleep?" she asks, voice husky and breath warm against Ariadne's shoulder. 

Ariadne risks a smile. "You've watched me sleep plenty of times," she says, barely daring to move.

"Fair," Arden says. She leans over, nuzzling against Ariadne's shoulder and sliding an arm over her waist and making Ariadne's heart do something strange in her chest. "What time is it?"

"Still early," Ariadne says, craning her neck to try and see her clock and failing. "Why?" Hoping against hope it's not that Arden has to run off for another job, that she's going to get a kiss goodbye and nothing more.

"Because then there's plenty of time for this before breakfast." Arden kisses down her shoulder and over her breasts and down below the sheets, and Ariadne looks up at the ceiling and laughs. She might not understand it completely, she might not be able to convince herself of the logic behind Arden choosing her. But it doesn't matter because this is real, she's awake, she knows how she got here, this is real and it's happening right now and it isn't a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to alierakieron and gollumgollum for the betas!


End file.
